CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JASE
one year later
“ G amsahamnida.” I thank the delivery guy again as I close the door, trying to juggle the ridiculous amount of food he’s just handed me and not trip over Noel in the process.
Having regular access to my favorite dishes again has not made me any less excited about eating any of it. Every meal is still pretty much the equivalent of a party for my taste buds. Especially when we order from our favorite chimek place just down the street. Which happens far more often than it probably should. Now that I fully understand why Nikko isn’t allowed in a kitchen, it’s either me trying to cook or us ordering out. While I appreciate Ryo’s attempts to teach me a few basic Korean staples, I think it’s safer for everyone if we just continue to support local businesses.
I manage to make it to the dining room before anything falls out of my arms, the containers of kimchi and rice scattering onto the table. Sorting the sides and entrees is quick work, despite how many of the sleek black plastic bowls there are. I dump the chopsticks and sauces into a neat little pile and go to grab drinks.
Beers out and open, I follow the sound down the hall, pausing outside the spare bedroom door to listen for a moment before I knock. I don’t want to interrupt a moment of genius, but I also like to eavesdrop when I can. I’ve always considered myself a fan of music, but the level of respect that I have for the creative process and what it takes to actually make songs that people love is infinite at this point.
I can hear the soft strumming of a guitar, and then Nikko laughs, loud and bright, making me smile. As I peek inside, he catches sight of me almost immediately and grins. “Hey,” I say, “time for a break. Dinner is here.”
“Food?” Nikko jumps up from his chair and reaches to take Iseul’s guitar so he can stand, too. “This is why I love you,” he declares, leading the three of us out of the room.
“I hope that’s not the only reason,” I joke, slipping my hand in the back pocket of his jeans to give his ass a squeeze.
Iseul snorts behind me. “He’s got a whole album’s worth of tracks if you need proof it’s not. I’m happy to play them for you.”
“No!” Nikko yelps, spinning around wildly enough to only narrowly avoid colliding with the kitchen wall. “He can’t hear any of it yet!”
Iseul raises his hands in mock surrender. “Yes, I know. You’ve mentioned that many times,” he chuckles, taking his usual seat at the table.
Nikko glares back at him, but it’s playful. Almost instantly, he’s smiling again, picking up his chopsticks to dig in. I pretend not to notice that he slips the first bite to Noel, as usual, but Iseul is quick to tease him about it.
I think their dynamic is one of the reasons they work so well together. I know they make good music, but Iseul’s calm aura seems to have some sort of magic effect on Nikko’s tendencies to get anxious, too.
As much as I have come to love all the members of the group, Iseul—it feels weird to call him Lalo now—has become one of my closest friends and favorite people. He’s a regular fixture at our place, working with Nikko on music for his solo album or just hanging out. The three of us are all pretty low-key and prefer staying in more than going out like some of the other guys. And with Kija all wrapped up in his new relationship, it’s been nice to expand my social circle some, too.
The almost three months I had lived with Kija had been an excellent re-bonding experience for us to catch up on absolutely everything, be totally platonic bro dates to Dae-Ho’s wedding, and become a part of each other’s daily lives again. And then get tired of being up in each other’s business all the damn time. It was fine, and we both knew it was temporary, but the wait to get everything settled had seemed so long some days.
Part of the delay had been due to Task Force’s decision to let the members of RYSING finally move out of their shared living space with the six of them together. The company purchased several units in a new building not far from their headquarters and designated three of them for the group. Ryo and Tang in one, Chita and Lux in another, and—on paper, officially—Lalo and Nikko in the last. When they had all done a live-stream to tour their new places for the fans, Nikko proudly showed off a bedroom he’d never spent a single night in.
Instead, he sleeps just down the hall.
With me.
While RyoTang and ChitaLux had taken the apartments on the floor above ours, I was allowed to live in the extra one on the same level as Nikko and Lalo’s “for convenience.” The lease that I signed literally contains the words “to maintain ease of access to educational resources at times that are most convenient to the artists and trainees, day or night.” I had nearly choked to death trying not to laugh when I signed the paperwork, but it let me be with Nikko, so I wasn’t going to let that ridiculous detail get in the way.
What would have been Nikko’s bedroom in the shared apartment has been converted to a home studio for Iseul to create and produce, while the spare bedroom in ours is a work space that Nikko and I share. Sometimes it’s for making music with Iseul or one of the other members, and sometimes it’s for practicing English grammar with a trainee who desperately wants to debut.
“Are you still good to record on Tuesday or Wednesday?” Iseul asks, once the initial snarfing of food has calmed down.
Nikko nods. “Yes. Jase will be out of town, so I’m all yours.”
“Ah, that’s right,” Iseul chuckles. “Your big trip with Baebidol.”
“I don’t know that a few days in London counts as a big trip, but it’s definitely a long flight,” I say before grabbing more tteokbokki. “Fifteen hours on a plane with nine teenage girls is basically what all those years in the library prepared me for.”
They both laugh, but it’s really kind of true. I miss my students all the time, but several of the members of Baebidol very much remind me of Harper, Alita, and Savannah.
During the month I had gone back to the States to quit my life there and pack up, I’d managed to find the girls on social media and reach out. I wanted to let them know I was leaving, as well as ask for a way to send them something, which I had done almost as soon as I’d arrived in Seoul. The video they’d made for me of unboxing their package of autographed, just-for-them RYSING goodies was one of the best things I’ve ever seen.
“Are you just working with them during interviews, or are you supposed to follow them around everywhere they go?” Iseul asks, refilling his own glass, as well as mine.
I shrug. “I have no idea. I’m not sure anyone knows yet since this is my first official translator-on-a-press-tour outing. I guess I’ll be prepared for anything.”
“I’m not sure you could prepare for something like what happened with Chokollit,” Nikko comments.
“I’ve watched that whole interview, like, eight times, and I still can’t figure out how it went so wrong, so fast,” I say. The now infamous Chokollit interview is both the whole reason they are no longer an active idol group and why I am being sent on a press tour as the only translator allowed to work with Baebidol. Task Force is not about to let another one of their groups implode on late night television thanks to terrible interpretation. “It’s job security, though, so I think it works out for me.”
Nikko puts down his chopsticks, pouting in my direction. “But it also takes you away from home. Noel and I need you here. It’s not our fault that other idols did not bother to practice their English!”
I snicker at his indignation, because it is adorable and pretty accurate. We speak English at home more often than not, including when Iseul is around. It helps Iseul to keep his skills sharp and allows Nikko to feel more comfortable in spontaneous conversation, smoothing out his sentence structure and figuring out things like when to use contractions and casual slang. It’s just another way of preparing him for his next steps, when he will be the one doing a press tour on his own, without the safety net of his fluent leader and the other members.
“Helping them practice English is what lets me stay here with you,” I remind him.
Grumbling, Nikko turns his attention back to the noodles in his bowl.
Iseul laughs at Nikko’s sudden renewed interest in his food. “Now he’s quiet because he knows he can’t argue with you.”
“You can go home at any time,” Nikko tells him.
“One of these days I’m going to go to Iseul’s and you two can stay here,” I tease them, even though they both know it’s a completely empty threat.
Nikko shrugs. “As long as you leave Noel with us.”
??? ??
“I need to pack,” I mumble against Nikko’s neck. I’m not motivated to get up at all. He’s so warm underneath me, and he smells like sweat and sex and the cologne that makes me want to eat him alive. I practically had when he’d returned from a meeting with Iseul and another one of the producers at Task Force earlier. I didn’t even bother to ask how it went before I pulled his shirt over his head and chased him into the bedroom.
“No, you need to stay here,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist and holding on tight. “I won’t let you leave.”
“It’s only four days.” I press kisses along his collarbone. “You can be waiting here in bed for me when I get back. Naked, of course.”
He giggles. “Maybe I’ll wait on the couch. It is closer to the front door.”
“Still naked?” I ask, looking up at him with a smirk.
“Obviously.”
I push myself up off of him, because if I don’t move, I know I’ll stay there long enough to miss my flight. I glance in the direction of the massive walk-in closet that is 85% Nikko’s clothes and 15% mine. “What should I take with me?”
“Call Lux and ask him. You know he’s decided he is your personal stylist. He would probably be very excited to dress you for your big work trip,” Nikko says with a smile, even though I know he’s serious and Lux would be, too.
“I think I’m good.” I slip out of bed, searching for any of my clothes that got scattered prior to our frisky romp.
Nikko rolls to the edge of the mattress, pulling me back to sit beside him. “You need the blue Prada shirt and those black pants that I like so much.”
“Such a good brand ambassador.” I reach to tuck his hair behind his ear. He’s been letting it grow and I love the natural waves he’s got now. I think the look suits him, but I also like that I can see his jewelry this way, especially his newest piercing. A single diamond stud set in platinum high above the rest of the hoops and dangles in his lobe.
We can’t do much to show we’re together, but we wanted to find ways to keep pieces of each other. He wears my birthstone, the one earring that doesn’t change. Subtle enough that fans probably won’t even notice, but I know it’s there for me.
I had kept the note he wrote for me with the tiny heart drawn on it. I’d immediately wanted to get the small shape tattooed on me and eventually did just that. Etched on the inside of my forearm, next to naekkeo in Nikko’s handwriting. Close to his name, but so much more—I am his and he is mine.
“Yes.” He nods, all faux seriousness. “Always for the brand. Nothing to do with how good I think you look in those things.”
Chuckling, I get up for real, tugging on underwear and retrieving my suitcase from the corner where I’d put it two days ago and ignored it since then. “How was your meeting?” I finally ask as I start throwing socks into my bag.
His face lights up with excitement. “Good! I think the song that I will record while you are gone is the last one. Iseul says it feels like a title track.”
“Oooooh.” I stop folding my pajama pants to be appropriately awed. I know title tracks, despite having nothing to do with the actual title of the album, are a very big deal. “Am I ever going to get to hear any of this album? Or do I have to wait until it comes out like everyone else?”
“Soon,” he promises. “I just want it to be perfect for you.”
“For me? This isn’t about me,” I tell him. Iseul has teased him enough about some of the songs that I am pretty sure there might be a hint of me here or there, but I wonder suddenly if he’s worried I might not like what he’s written or recorded.
Nikko tilts his head, looking at me like I’m either crazy or clueless. Maybe both. “Jase. Of course it’s about you. It’s always about you.”
“I—what?”
“I don’t know if I would have ever actually done this without you. Every song is as much yours as it is mine,” he says, soft and sincere.
Jumping on the bed again, I gently push him down, grabbing his wrists to pin them above his head as I kiss him deeply.
Packing can wait.
???
“Noel!” Nikko yelps as she takes off after a squirrel, dragging him along behind her, holding on to her leash, trying to keep up.
I laugh, like I have every other time this has happened. Somehow, he still manages to be caught off guard with each woodland creature or animal she decides she needs to chase. Despite her small size, he’s been yanked all over this park and never quite seems prepared, sometimes even after he’s pointed out some furry critter to her. “One of these days you’re going to learn!” I tease.
“Probably not!” he calls back, disappearing around a curve in the trail.
Picking up my pace to catch them, I think about all the times I’d walked through this park alone when I lived in the neighborhood nearby. After a tough day at school, frustrated for my students by the pressures of the Korean education system, I had found some solace meandering through the green space here. It was never very crowded and felt far enough removed from the hustle and bustle of downtown Seoul to be an escape.
Now, it’s one of the very few places in the city where Nikko and I can go together and not worry much about being seen. No one pays much attention to the guys in the park with the small-but-thinks-she’s-large dog. Some days, he’ll even reach for my hand as we walk, careful to keep his eyes down, hidden beneath the brim of his ball cap if we pass anyone, but he never lets go.
“You cannot climb that tree, Noel.”
I hear him before I see him, but find them on the other side of a giant Mongolian oak. It’s never not funny to me how much Nikko sounds like me when he talks to Noel, having picked up on everything from my phrasing to my tone. “How’s that working out for you?” I ask, with a smile as she continues to growl and scratch at the bark.
“Maybe we shouldn’t discourage her dreams,” he suggests. “Why limit her in this way?”
“Because if we don’t, she’ll be a tree-climbing serial killer,” I tell him. “Did you not see what happened to that squid Ryo gave her?”
He nods. “No, I saw. And I found the last tentacle in my slipper the other day.”
“See! It was a warning.”
He laughs, vibrant and carefree.
I swear it’s my favorite sound in the world.
While he’s bending down to scoop her up and kiss all over her face as she tries to squirm around enough to retaliate, I grab my phone to take a video. My entire camera roll is full of the two of them—it’s easy to see what’s most important to me.
For the longest time, my only wish was for a simple, stable kind of life. I always liked for things to be quiet, organized, like the books on the shelves of my former library. I thought that was how I would thrive. But, even with my desire for calm, I also felt love should be loud. Not the demonstrative, just-for-show stuff that people on social media call ‘love.’ But loud in actions: like knowing someone so well they hear you before you say something, like their heartbeat is your constant companion, the soundtrack to your days and nights.
My life with Nikko isn’t simple, and that’s fine, because he’s so worth it.
Our relationship is quiet, a secret, and that’s perfect, because it lets us protect what we have.
Our love is loud in all the ways that matter.
In all the moments we share like this, just him and I.